


Cold Remedies

by BlackEyedGirl



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/pseuds/BlackEyedGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team-Avenger is currently split right down the middle: there are the three non-powered humans, currently doing their best not to accidentally cough up a lung; and there are the three powered-up humans-slash-Asgardians, doing their best not to die of smugness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Remedies

**Author's Note:**

> Lilalanor wanted to know how characters dealt with being sick. That's my only excuse for this.

Team-Avenger is currently split right down the middle: there are the three non-powered humans, currently doing their best not to accidentally cough up a lung; and there are the three powered-up humans-slash-Asgardians, doing their best not to die of smugness. Or so it seems to Tony.

He expounds on this theory at length to Natasha, who is curled up on the couch with her gun in easy reach. Her face is flushed, and she’s watching Ellen with glazed eyes. It’s possible her fever has progressed to the point where she’s thinking about shooting the TV, but Tony suspects that she just doesn’t want to be attacked while she’s vulnerable. The only reason she’s here instead of locked up in SHIELD HQ is that Coulson ordered them to leave before they infected the rest of the base.

Clint coughs pathetically and glares. “I blame you.”

“Me?” Tony asks. “What the hell did I have to do with this? Natasha’s the one who had to interrogate the suspect with the super-powered common-cold.”

“If it was a super-powered cold,” Clint says slowly, “the others would be down with it too. Not just us. But it’s still-.” He’s waving his bow about now. Tony really should set better restrictions on weapons access in the mansion. Especially to the mildly delirious.

“Clint,” Tony says. “You wanna, maybe, put down the deadly weapon before you put someone’s eye out?”

“I have shot this thing while doped up on highly illegal enemy disorientation gases,” Clint says, “and still _not missed_.”

“You really need to tell me about some of your old missions someday.” Tony winces, and puts his hand to his head. “Not today though. I probably won’t remember it.”

Thor strides in. “Friends! I have spoken to Jane, and she has recommended some medicine for you.”

Natasha’s death glare is slightly, but only slightly, reduced by her feverish expression and red nose. “A) Less volume. B) _Less volume_. C) Jane is not a medical doctor.”

“No,” Bruce agrees. He still looks vaguely apologetic about the whole thing. There’s no _reason_ for him to be immune when he’s not in Hulk-form, except, well, there probably is, but Tony is in no state to consider that right now. And even if he was, biochemistry is not his area of expertise. Bruce says, “But she really just recommended paracetamol and drinking fluids. Plus rest. Which I think is probably the best idea.”

This earns him another death glare. Natasha says, “We could be called to a mission at any moment and we’re to rely on-.”

Clint throws something at her, and it’s a testament to his aim that he still hits her lap, despite the fact that the effort of sitting upright is making him sway sideways. Tony is sort of impressed. Even if Thor does have to hasten to Clint’s side to stop him toppling off the couch.

Natasha looks at the wrapped candy and sighs. “Fine.” She unwraps it and pops it into her mouth, before descending back under the blanket. Tony watches her pat the gun gently before refocusing her attention to the television.

Tony looks at Bruce. “If anyone,” he says, “this is your fault. You could have researched finding a cure for this, but _no_ , you had to find the secret super soldier serum- wow, the world went a little spotty there.”

Steve appears, or maybe he was always there. “You know,” he says reproachfully, this wouldn’t have got nearly so bad if you’d just told us you were feeling sick.”

“I was working.”

“I know that. You nearly passed out in the lab, remember?”

“It’s just a cold. I have- work. Things. If I miss something important, I’m telling Pepper it was your fault.”

“I’ve already called Ms Potts and explained.”

Tony nods at him, because he’s running out of energy to argue. That’s a terrifying thought.

Slightly out of focus, he can see Steve peering at the tiny writing on the side of the bottle of pills. “Bruce, there’s a note on this about mixing it with alcohol and Tony…”

Tony lets their conversation drone on in the background, while they discuss dosages, and the best ways of driving off a cold and Steve just stands there, ridiculously healthy and perfect.

“I hate you,” Tony says, when Steve returns with a tray of toast and three glasses of juice.

Steve mmm-hmms peaceably. “Okay. I’m going to make some soup in a little while, but let’s start with juice and toast.”

“I still hate you.”

“So you said. Would you like me to put on a movie?”

“Natasha…” Ellen is apparently finished, and Natasha is asleep on the couch. Tony’s not sure he’s ever seen her sleep before.

Steve smiles at him. “Resting,” he says. “She’s supposed to be resting. And she must feel safe enough to do it here.”

She still has the gun, and Tony’s pretty sure she would wake up if he stepped towards her. Bruce delicately takes the remote from her hand and her eyelids flutter but she doesn’t try to stop him. Maybe she knows he’s safe too. Mostly, anyway. Bruce throws the remote into Steve’s hand and goes to sit at the work-desk at the side of the room. He whispers, like the rest of them are asleep too, “I’m going to run some more tests. Just to be sure.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Better to be safe.”

Thor stares worriedly at Clint. “And this is normal, for your people? To be struck down so suddenly?”

Clint grumbles something which sounds decidedly like ‘I’ll strike _you_ down suddenly’ but he doesn’t move. Thor offers him a glass of juice and he gulps half of it down before huffing in exasperation and curling into a ball on the side of the couch. Thor drags a blanket over him.

“Tony,” Steve says. “Movie?”

“Something with explosions,” Clint orders, from his blanket-nest.

“It’s always explosions with you,” Tony says. “I don’t…” He can’t think. Everything _aches_ , not in the sharp clean way of a fight, just cloudy pain overlaying everything. Steve’s hand settles on the back of his neck. He has big hands – solid – rubbing circles from Tony’s collar to his hairline. “Oh.”

“What?” Steve asks quietly.

“I still hate you.”

“I know,” Steve says, sounding nothing more than fond. If he thinks playing sweet will dim Tony’s hatred of his ridiculous viral-immune super-body, then he has another thing coming.

The hand thing might do it though. Tony says, “You’re weirdly good at this.”

“I was sick a lot. When I was a kid. Actually, all the time before I was- you know.”

“And you learnt from the best?”

Steve’s hand stops momentarily. “There wasn’t really anyone to learn from, most of the time. My mom was… and then it was just me.” He whispers, smiling, “And Bucky, but he wasn’t ever much of a nursemaid.” His hand starts his patient movement again.

“So you’re saying you’re just a natural.”

“I’m saying shut up and rest. You’re all home, and safe. And you’ll feel better soon.”

“Because you’re going to make soup.”

Steve laughs; Tony can feel it through his chest, now he has slipped down to curl against Steve’s welcome heat. Steve says, “Because I’m going to make soup.”

Tony drifts off for a moment, and when he wakes up again there are explosion noises coming quietly from the television speakers. Steve’s arm is still around him and he’s still rubbing Tony’s neck. Clint is rambling about blast radiuses and Natasha intermittently wakes up enough to try and correct him; Thor is humouring both of them by asking questions. Bruce is typing quietly and talking to himself while he works. Tony turns his head enough that he can just about make eye contact with Steve. “I don’t completely hate you.”

“I know,” Steve says, and his fingers are running through the ends of Tony’s hair now.

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay, that’s… okay.” He lets himself go back to sleep. If there’s an emergency, Steve will let them know.


End file.
